Pokemon Noir
by Psifonian
Summary: In the years after World War II, a private detective is hired by his ex-flame (and Pokemon researcher) to find out who stole her research. A gritty noir in the style of Hammett, Chandler and Thomas Pynchon.


_So I wrote the first chapter of a detective story this weekend. Sounds pretty run-of-the-mill, right?_

_Well, I set it in the world of Pokémon._

_That's right: this noir spotlights a private eye in post-WWII America, in an alternate reality where Pokémon exist. So call it half-fanfic, half-homage to Chandler, Hammett, and Pynchon._

_Anyway, I'd appreciate the reading._

**ONE**

He poured three fingers of single-malt into his glass and two more down his throat, then knocked back what was in the glass to make it a full fist. Always started the day that way. Even if it was three-fifty by the clock on the wall, the one that never hung straight no matter how many times Cal fucked with it. When she knocked on the door, it rattled that clock right off the stud.

"You in there, Cal?"

That _voice_. He'd know it anywhere.

"That you, Aurea?"

"Can I come in?"

He hastily half-screwed the bottle and stuffed it back into the desk. He tugged on his tie, mussed his hair a bit, swept the dandruff off his shoulder. "Yeah, yeah. Sure."

She came in the door with the same awkward grace she'd always had. Cal hadn't seen her in years. Five, six, felt like a thousand. He remembered that last night, that last kiss, before they shipped him off. He'd been a different man then. But she still looked just as she had when he left. Auburn hair, flash of green eyes on porcelain skin.

He stood up as she came in. His knees almost gave out, from the booze or from what he didn't know. "How did you find me?"

"I looked in the phone book."

"You waited five years."

"Six. And you're the one who never came back."

Something like shame welling up. "Ah, hell, Aurea . . ."

"I don't need an explanation, Cal. I need your help."

"So this ain't a social call?"

The look on her face answered it even if she didn't. Aurea Juniper, always a knockout. And now that he looked at her, she _had_ changed. There was a hardness in her eyes, not a bitter one but not quite kind.

"I have a problem," she said.

"Guy problem?" Trying not to sound hopeful.

"Someone broke into my lab."

"So you're a prof now?"

"What gave it away?"

"I just remember it being a passing fancy. You know, back before . . ."

She sighed, that patented Aurea Juniper sigh that seemed like she could shame the entire world. "Okay, staying on topic. Give me the whens and whats."

"Three days ago. They broke into my lab in the middle of the night."

"What'd they take?"

"A briefcase. Some research notes."

"On what?"

She shook her head. "Can't talk about it."

"Why not?"

She raised her eyebrows-what's it to you?

He held up hands in mock surrender. "Okay, hey, a briefcase with notes. Got it."

Aurea sighed. "I'm sorry, Cal. But it's-"

"Sensitive? Top-secret? Hush-hush? Clan-_des_-tine?"

"Yes. Take your pick."

He leaned back in his chair. "Okay. So someone busts into your lab, steals a briefcase with mysterious notes in it. And . . . why not call the cops?"

She said nothing, but it said everything to him.

"Okay, it really _is_ hush-hush. Cops can't know about it, but your low-down, any-job-there-is P.I. of a boyfriend-"

"_Ex_-boyfriend."

"Not officially."

"Jesus, Calvin . . ."

"Alright, alright." So much for that tack. He was never good at softening her. "So what is it you _do_ research?"

"What do _you_ think?"

"Right, right. But what specifically? Or is that sensitive, too?"

"Breeding habits, mostly."

"Yes, you _were_ always curious about that."

"Asshole." Just for a second, he caught the old Aurea Juniper smile.

"Careful. Don't want those hoity-toity brainiacs to know they're slumming it with a girl from the back-alleys. Where you livin'?"

She told him. He whistled. "High-end. But I gotta ask, why'd you come all the way to me? I mean, I appreciate the visit and all, but gumshoe joes gotta be a dime a dozen on Cinnabar . . ."

"The lab they broke into is closer. Route 7."

"That's still quite a drive. Why me?"

"Well, truth of the matter is, I couldn't think of who else to trust." A pause. "Not that I trust you, not after what happened."

Hmm. Still holding onto old times. "I guess I could've called."

"Could've done more than that."

"A postcard, then."

"I thought you were dead, Cal. You never came home."

"Lots of boys didn't come home, Aurea."

"Even your mother didn't know."

His mother, dead of a stroke in '47. "I went to the funeral."

"Your sister said she barely recognized you."

Penny, who kicked him out of the wake for getting into it with the mortician.

"Even now I can smell the booze."

"You gonna start in on me, Aurea, or are we gonna talk turkey?"

She shrugged, scowled, said, "How much?"

"Five hundred's the going-rate, but for you . . ." He pretended to calculate the sum in his head. "Aw, hell, I'll do it for free."

"Cal . . ."

"Call it an apology discount."

He smiled, then started to cough, a ragged and rattling sound that he tried to stifle by smothering it into his palm. He came away with flecks of blood. These coughing bouts were fewer over the last year, but still came every other day. Call them a souvenir from Guadalcanal.

He wiped his hand on his seat. "Give me the address?"

She wrote it down and handed it to him.

"Okay. One more thing - do you have _any_ idea who might have taken the goods?"

She looked like she wanted to say something, then thought better of it, then thought better of _that _and said, "Wouldn't be surprised if it's a colleague of mine."

"This colleague got a name?"

She looked at his wall, at the pictures there, framed articles. HERMANN GOERING COMMITS SUICIDE HOURS BEFORE EXECUTION. HIROHITO RENOUNCES GODHOOD, RELEASES LEGENDARY BIRD. Finally she said, "The name Sam Oak ring a bell?"

It sure did. "_The_ Sam Oak? The same Sam Oak who's always in the papers? Talkin' about a bright future, us and them holding hands for a brighter tomorrow?"

"I take it you don't hold with that?"

Understatement of the year. "I don't recall him holding hands with 'em when-" _When the Japs were banzai-ing us with Koffings and Grimers on Guadalcanal_ was what he was going to say, but he didn't want to go there. "Why would he steal your research? Way I hear it, Oak's got legions of sponsors and millions of taxpayer dollars at his disposal."

She didn't say. He leaned back in his chair, steepled his hands. "Unless you were working on something that he might not want others to know."

Something flickered in her eyes. "Cal. _Please_."

Two words he'd never say no to. "Okay, mum's the word."

"This is dangerous, Cal."

"I'm taking it serious."

"There's something else," she said, reaching into her purse.

She set them on the desk. Three spheres, each the size of a red-over-white baseball. He jerked back in his chair so hard it whined. "No."

"Come on, Cal . . ."

"No, do you hear me? No way. Not a chance."

She cut her eyes down. "I know how you feel about them, but I'd feel safer knowing you weren't going into this without protection."

He reached into his drawer, took out the .38 Chief's Special he kept in there with the bourbon. He slapped it on the desk. "I'll be safe enough."

She shook her head. "I don't think you'll have enough bullets for what's coming, Cal."

"I didn't need 'em in the war. I don't need 'em now."

"I'm asking."

"Aurea . . ."

"I'm _begging_."

Her voice broke on the last syllable, and Cal remembered the last time he'd seen her before today, two months after Pearl Harbor. She asked if he'd write, he told him he would, she'd said something as he got on the bus that sounded like _No you won't_ and probably was. And she was right. Not even a postcard.

"The things I do for you."

He reached over and scooped up one of the Poké Balls. He dropped it in the drawer with his .38 and closed it.

"What about the others?" she asked.

"One's more than enough."

That exasperated Aurea Juniper sigh. "Don't you at least want to choose-"

"Darling, it really doesn't make a difference to me."


End file.
